Page 21 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis
Another buzz. This time, a photo from Christian.
The image showed a stunning rooftop view of New York City, with skyscrapers stretching toward a gray September sky. But what drew my attention wasn’t the buildings, it was the edge of the frame, where I could make out two wine glasses on a table. One had the faint trace of lipstick on the rim.
Jealousy knotted in my gut.
Pure and simple.
I stared at the photo, my thumb hovering over the keyboard.“I hope you had a great time with her,”I typed. Then deleted it.
“Looks like rain,”I tried instead. Deleted that, too.
Finally,“Nice view.”
I hit send before I could overthink it further, then immediately wished I hadn’t. No response came, and I checked my phone every few minutes for the rest of the morning.
By lunch, I’d conducted two more interviews, reviewed contracts for three of my girls, and handled a scheduling conflict that required negotiation. Normal business. Routine tasks. But my mind kept drifting to that photograph, to those wine glasses, to the question of who Christian was with in New York.
“This is ridiculous,” I said aloud, pushing back from my desk.
I walked to the window, looking out at the city below. September in St. Louis showcased brilliant oranges and reds in the trees lining the streets. That would extend to October and then just like that it would all be gone within weeks. Everything was temporary. Everything changed.
Maybe that was the problem. For almost a year, my arrangement with Christian had been a constant thing in my life. In this relationship I knew what to expect, what was allowed, and where the boundaries were. But lately, I’d considered what our situationship would look like if things went further.
My reflection stared back at me from the window glass—successful, independent, intelligent. But underneath the surface,I could see the truth I’d been avoiding. I was forty-three years old, and for the first time since my disastrous divorce, I wanted something that violated every rule I’d put in place to protect myself.
I wanted more.
I wanted more dinners like last night. More falling asleep against his shoulder. More of the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention—like I was his precious gift instead of a fleeting moment.
But wanting more was a risk. And I still hadn’t forgiven myself for the mistakes of my past. That had nearly destroyed me once before. I couldn’t let it happen again.
My phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn’t Christian. It was a number I recognized but hadn’t heard from in months. Gerald. As if thoughts of my past had summoned him.
I stared at his name on the screen, my stomach dropping. Gerald never called unless he needed something. Money, usually. Or bail. Or someone to clean up whatever mess he’d made.
I let it go to voicemail.
Two minutes later, another call. Then another. By the fourth ring, I knew he wasn’t going to give up.
“What do you want, Gerald?” I answered.
“Naomi.” His voice sounded rough, older than I remembered. “I need to see you.”
“No.”
“Please. It’s important. It’s about my health.”
I closed my eyes, feeling the manipulation beginning. Gerald had always been good at finding my weak spots, at knowing which words would make me cave regardless of every rational thought in my head.
“What’s wrong with your health?”
“I can’t discuss it over the phone. Can we meet? Just for coffee. Please, baby. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t serious.”
The endearment made my skin crawl, but underneath my disgust, I felt that traitorous flicker of concern. With everything he’d put me through, the lies, the cheating, the financial disasters, I was still concerned for him.
“One coffee. That’s it.”
“Thank you. There’s a place on?—”
